


Meme: Famous Last Words

by kiwoa (Rinoa)



Category: Persona 4
Genre: F/F, Kink Meme, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinoa/pseuds/kiwoa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to him, you two are some sort of united force. He can't possibly be for real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meme: Famous Last Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [http://badbadbathhouse.livejournal.com/1488.html?thread=6542544#t6542544](/gifts?recipient=http%3A%2F%2Fbadbadbathhouse.livejournal.com%2F1488.html%3Fthread%3D6542544%23t6542544).



> Spoilers through the whole game, violence, MAJOR character deaths, and if you're still willing to brave this, thank you. And I'm sorry.

He can’t possibly be for real. It’s not that you don’t like him, but it’s just hard to believe that anyone could build a friendship that fast. And not even a regular friendship, if his words are to be taken seriously. According to him, you two are some sort of united force. It just can’t be real. He’s all surface, a thin veneer like the plastic grips on his kunai, comforting, cushy wrapping hiding the unremarkable underneath. He must be. Still, it’s nice to have someone you know you can rely on in the TV World, and he does have some decent insights now and again. He’s even fun to hang out with when he’s not running his mouth. In the more quiet moments, you think he might have a sincere personality somewhere in there after all. It’s with those moments in mind that you fight the urge to roll your eyes as he coils back, tense energy and music rolling off of him, and shouts,

He’s all cried out. It’s been at least an hour since either of you last mentioned her; his cheeks, his eyes are dry, not even enough moisture left in him to smear on his eyelashes as he swipes his hands across his face. “Sorry,” he says for the fourteenth time. You tell him again, really, it’s nothing, and he scrubs at his nose and shakes his head. You’re not lying. A few months ago, had you said the same thing, you would have been, but right now, right now it’s genuine. He’s genuine. Annoying, sure, loud, no doubt, but also insecure and lonely and doing his very best to not give anyone a weak spot to gouge. His breath hitches in a half-swallowed sob. You climb to your feet and extend a helping hand, like he was knocked down in battle, like he’s crawling out of a trash can, like you did on that raw day in an ink-stained store smelling of liquor and tepid rain. Aiya, your treat. He’s about to wave off the offer (you can tell; you know him well enough by now to recognize when he thinks you’re secretly sick of him), but you interrupt that before it can start by grabbing his elbow and hoisting him up. You don’t bother to ask him again. Instead, you just ask if he’s ready. With a laugh that’s halfway to being another sob, he sighs,

She’s not scary anymore. She’s still enormous, too big to even be imposing – she’s engulfing, consuming, and the air you suck in is her breath and the twitching breeze on your face is her hair and the rigid line of your spine is her bony fingers. But she’s not scary. Not after watching your friends fall. Not after watching him get sucked down into nothing. You raise your arm, and your new power coalesces into something burning so bright even she can’t ignore it. It’s tense for a minute; you can hear things. Her undulations are coarse now, arrhythmic, showing her fear, but they’re only a bassbeat to the hymn of mixed voices singing in your head. Your friends, your family, your team all telling you they’re here and you can do this. We can do this. The first notch gets released when Nanako’s laugh breaks through (because you have to make it back to her – there’s no other option), and now, with the safety off, you wait for the twitch that will pull the trigger. It will come. You know it will. It does, and you’re almost surprised at the form it takes. Over everyone else, everything else, so loud and clear you swear Izanami herself recoils at the sound, he says simply,

“What? You don’t want to go?!” If you were there in person, you’re sure he’d be jamming the tickets right up your nose. “How can you not like amusement parks?” You point out that his mom gave him the tickets so he could take his girlfriend. He snaps, “Not all of us have girls falling at our feet, okay?” and it takes all your restraint to not ask where she got the impression he had a girlfriend then. With a resigned sigh, you ask him when they’re good for. “Golden week,” he crows proudly, “and I even got an extra so we can take Nanako.” You’re actually a little touched by that, but you hide it well by asking with faux innocence if he told his mom it was for his girlfriend’s little sister. You wouldn’t be teasing him if you knew how that day would turn out. In fact, you probably would pack nicer clothes for the trip and make sure to bring some breathmints. You definitely wouldn’t wear a shirt to the theme park that smells more like a wet suitcase than any sort of flowery fabric softener. To be fair, you have no way of knowing that you’re going to realize you’re in love with him. If you were a bit more attentive, you’d notice the belly-full-of-warm-soup feeling that slinks in when you open the door to see him, smiling dopily under a character-emblazoned baseball cap that makes his hair jut out on the sides just like the brim in the front. Then, you might be able to predict that this will be the day you’ll feel like everything suddenly makes sense and, floating high on a ferris wheel with Nanako tucked against your other side, kiss the corner of his grin. You don’t, though. You have no idea what’s in store for you. So you calmly ask them if they’re ready to head out. Nanako claps, bounces, giggles, “Yeah!” and he laughs,

He asks again if the dorm room door is locked, and you smirk. Maybe the wind untwisted the deadbolt in the past five minutes; if he’d like, you can go check. “Don’t tease me,” he groans, laying the back of his hand over his eyes. You press it firmer into place, as if it were a blindfold, and lap at his lower lip. There’s a pause, then he yanks his hand away and slips both arms under yours and up to press on your shoulders and draw you in closer. His mouth is warm and he’s gasping, his hips thrumming electric against yours. He tugs so hard on your shirt that the neckline across your throat tingles. It’s difficult to break the kiss long enough to slip his t-shirt off, and you overcompensate by diving back to him, tongue darting a mirror image of his to taste as he tastes. There’s synchrony in the way you both fumble with the other’s pants, in the tandem buzz of zippers coming undone, in the crush and slip and press and whose legs go where until he locks his ankles at the small of your back. Your hands are on the waistband of his boxers, loose strands of elastic that have slipped free bent and supple under your palms, and you stop. Somehow, sometimes, he still manages to surprise you. You ask him if he’s sure. He smiles crookedly. “Of course. Are you?” That’s not what you meant, and he knows it. You try to break free, to lay back and tug him on top of you and bring your legs apart and up and then there’s one still hand on your chest and another offering you a condom. He says he trusts you. That’s all it takes to start the motion again. It’s a blur of friction giving way to slickness and cool gel boiling to life until you pause once more at the last possible moment. You want to be certain. He sits up just enough to fist one hand in your hair, kiss you blindingly, and with his lips a faint brush against yours, he says,

“Monkey Wrench reporting in. Do you read me? Over.”  
“Monkey Wrench, this is Team Tofu; we read you loud and clear, over.”  
In the buzz of the fading message, you think you can hear Naoto mutter, “This seems excessive.”  
Obviously, he hears it too. “Team Tofu, what was that?”  
“Over.”  
“What?”  
“Over, senpai! You forgot to say over, over!”  
The light for handset #3 blinks alight. “Wait, I’m getting confused.”  
“Royal Family, you’re getting confused, _over_.”  
“Rise-chan-”  
“ _Team Tofu_! ... Over.”  
“... Team Tofu, is this really necessary? Um. Over.”  
“Chie, you have to let go of the button or we can’t hear them.”  
“Are you sure? I thought we had to hold it to... wait...”  
“Uh, senpai?” Handset #4’s light shines. “Teddie was askin’ what we’re doing here, and to be honest, I, uh, I don’t think anyone ever explained that?”  
You tell Kanji that you’re watching Nanako, just in case.  
“Not Kanji, _Bear Hug_! Don’t you like my codenames, senpai?”  
You assure Rise that yes, they’re adorable, and you love them. She squeals happily for a moment before there’s a rustling and a much calmer voice comes on the line. “Senpai, I believe we’ve sighted the target. She appears to be proceeding to her destination unaccompanied.”  
He leans over you and presses the talk button. “Team Tofu, are you sure she’s alone?”  
“Affirmative. Target does appear, however, to be slightly agitated.”  
“H-hey! I think I see someone!”  
“What, _really_?! Is it a chick?”  
“No, definitely not. He’s... what do you think, Yukiko?”  
“Hmm... he’s tall, but I think his face looks young. He could be Nanako-chan’s age.”  
“Crap.” He shrugs at you and covers the handset speaker. “What do we do?”  
You never get a chance to answer that – Rise coughs loudly, “Red alert! Red alert!”  
You ask what’s going on.  
“Unidentified male, presumably the one observed by Royal Family, has intercepted the target.”  
“Senpai, they’re _holding hands_.”  
“Oh no! Is Nana-chan in trouble? Sensei, what do we do?!”  
Stay calm, you tell Teddie. There’s only one thing we can do.  
At your side, he grins eagerly. “Operation Interruption?”  
That’s the one. You ask everyone over the handset whether they’re ready.  
“Team Tofu is ready for action, over!”  
“Affirmative.”  
“Let’s do this!”  
“For Nana-chan!”  
“Ready when you are!”  
“Yes! Let’s save Nanako-chan!”  
You look to him.  
“Ready?” he asks.  
You nod.  
He shifts into a crouch, preparing for the strike, and says with bared teeth,

You’re not surprised when Nanako comes to you with a tarot card clasped between bloodless fingertips. You figured this would happen sooner or later. He, on the other hand, is visibly shaken. “Nanako, where did you...”

“It’s... it’s mine,” she says softly. “It’s the wild card. Big bro...”

You ask her if she met Igor and her nod looks more like she’s hanging her head.

“There are big things going on, big bro, and I don’t know what to do. Dad seems like he knows something’s up, but he’s not... you...”

You understand. You can’t tell her what she should do, but you understand how she feels and you’ll do everything you can to help her.

“Yeah” He exhales in a shaky rush. “Me too. I mean, I’m not special like you two, but every hero needs an advisor, y’know?”

Later on, you’ll tell him that even though he’s not the same as you, he’s still special, and you’ll tell him again without the words, but for now, you squeeze his shoulder and thank him.

He scoffs. “For what? Man, I don’t want to miss out on the action!”

You don’t really see the action for another week or so, and then, it’s far more than what you were prepared for. The enemies are fast and relentless. You do your best to fend them off with the Persona you have on you – Izanagi-no-Okami, Yoshitsune, Mada... – while Nanako flits through every element. Eventually she stumbles across an ice spell that knocks them all flat on their backs. Gaping at the wriggling insect legs all around her, she blurts, “What do I do now?!”

He grins. “You wanna show her?”

You don’t even have to respond to that.

With a whoop, he shouts,

“It’s over,” Masao whispers. “There’s no way we can do this.”

“Oh yes we can.” Nanako shifts both of her knives to one hand and pushes bangs stringy with sweat off of her forehead. “They killed a _goddess_. We can do this.”

Haru eyes you, halfway between admiration and something that makes you feel like a pervert for even recognizing it in someone her age. “Wow, Souji-kun. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Laundry,” he laughs as he slings an arm around your shoulders. “You oughta see him. ‘Do these count as denim or bright colors? Your clothes are so confusing, partner!’”

Haru gives him a strained smile. “Fascinating.”

“Okay.” Kei shifts his grip on his axe a few times, testing out the balance with careful swings until he nods at it, satisfied, and looks up at you. “What’s the game plan?”

You explain to them everything you know – the information Rise and Teddie gathered from their scans, the mythology and similar case files Naoto dug up, the relevant gossip Kanji managed to glean from conversations around town. Only Teddie’s with you today, all bright blue eyes as young as ever and a suit that’s red and blue and pristine white like it was just made yesterday, but that’s okay – Rise, Naoto, and Kanji are holding down base near the entrance, ready to treat any wounds, and Chie and Yukiko are shopping with their baby daughter, a.k.a. surreptitiously keeping watch on the other side of the TV. They may be getting a bit old for this, but they’re still there. Nothing can stop them.

“That’s right,” Nanako says in her finest stage voice, and you know it’s okay. She can take charge. It’s her team, and it’s her time. You’re fine playing second banana.

He nudges your shoulder and winks. Right. Second banana _s_.

You’re fine.

You’re fine as you enter the hallway, dark and melted, slipping on soot and clinging to walls that crumble under your touch. You’re fine as Nanako surges ahead with her team, their young legs sure even on treacherous terrain – and that’s ridiculous, you’re barely thirty, but somehow you feel so old that it’s almost unbearable. You’re fine as Teddie cries out that there’s more of them, and you know your place isn’t in the frontlines (it’s her time, it’s their time, and you’re fine playing second banana) but holding the line. The shadows fall easy under the strokes of your sword. Their numbers seem to be growing, though, and you’re not sure how long you can keep this up. Beside you, he twirls and hollers and laughs, the black leather headphones you got for him last Christmas snug around his head like armor. Then he stumbles as a shadow latches onto his ankle, and he trips face first into another. You drop your guard and rush towards him.

It’s that momentary distraction that ruins you.

The shadow slices through your wrist before you can even register what’s happening, and then you fall backwards, wondering feverishly where your sword is now. He stumbles down to you. There’s blood rushing everywhere, from the wound, in your ears, onto his shirt as he clutches where your hand should be and tries to staunch the flow. You ask him how he got here so fast.

“What are you talking about?” he laughs through his tears. “It took me forever to... to...” His head is on your chest, and you see those shiny headphones, soft, plush like clouds, like black clouds, like cloud shadows you tell him and he tells you you’re not making sense. You say you love him.

“Oh no,” he chokes, and he cries his pitter patter tears, cries for Saki all the time, but she doesn’t deserve him, she’s a bitch, and he should know better. She’ll be dead soon anyway. That doesn’t comfort him like you thought it would.

“Oh no,” he repeats, “don’t you do this. We’re getting you out of here. You’re gonna be okay, right partner? We just have to get you back to the base. Then Rise can fix you up good as new.”

He tells you you have to stand up now, and he drapes your arm (the one that still has a hand, oh my god, you lost your _hand_ ) over his shoulder. Together, you wade through the sludge of writhing shadows, him razing a path with sweeps of his kunai. You think he’s like a ninja. A legend. He’s beautiful.

You ask him where Rise is. You ask him if Rise’s at the amusement park. You love those. You love ferris wheels. You got married by a ferris wheel.

“Yeah,” he says, soft as cotton candy, “you did.”

There’s a moment of lucidity then, and you say you’re sorry. You should’ve been paying more attention. This didn’t have to happen.

He coughs. “Did you see all those shadows? We’re lucky we didn’t die back there.”

You want to agree with that, but you turn a corner and there they are, the waves that hadn’t reached you yet, stretched floor to ceiling and wall to wall. He swears under his breath. You tip your head forward and ask him if that glimmer of light down there is the way out. He nods.

“Yeah. Just gotta get through this room. Piece of cake, right?”

Right. You take one of his kunai into your left hand and nod. You’re ready when he is.

You kiss him, his forehead, the tip of his nose, his lips. He kisses you back, then inhales like he’s savoring it and says,

Your suit is white. You know he’d laugh at you for it, but your family’s always been one for tradition. Considering everything else, this is the one bit of adherence to tradition you can give them. You’re a little surprised they showed up for this, actually; your parents made no secret of their disapproval. You guess that when push comes to shove, they’re there for you after all. Or maybe they can just tell how _bad_ this is.

Rise told you the other day that you sound dead. She was crying when she said it, and she took it back and hugged you immediately afterwards, but you know she’s right. Of course you do. Everyone took for granted that it wasn’t you that voiced your thoughts most of the time.

It’s almost all by the book. You pick out the most formal clothes he owned – the ones he wore that day you went to the amusement park and secretly exchanged rings in front of the ferris wheel; the day you got married – for him to wear, and you place his kunai on his chest. Traditional weaponry. No raised eyebrows there. People do seem a bit befuddled by the black leather headphones looped around his neck, either by their presence or by the fact that they’re not orange. It’s selfish, you know, but you just can’t send those off too. You need some piece for yourself. Your parents are incredibly unhappy when you emerge to attend the service with plastic headphones crinkling your lapel. First the tombstone (you know what it implies to get both your names engraved, don’t you?), now this – do you want people to know what was going on?

Not really. But you don’t want them not to either.

Chie cries. Yukiko cries, and their baby cries, and Nanako, and Teddie, and Kanji, and Rise, and even Dojima puts his hand over his mouth and clenches his eyes shut. Naoto buries her face in her knees and trembles. You don’t. You’ve done enough of that. Your throat is dry. You’re all cried out.

Nanako shares a pair of chopsticks with you at the bone-picking. You’re a little surprised that his parents let you take part at all, but through his mom’s wails, you can tell she’s almost grateful you’re there. At the end, as you head outside with a small portion of ashes in an equally small urn, she grasps your hand (the one you have left. The one that clutched one of his kunai as he shoved you through the door, took the blow all on himself, and maybe if you hadn’t taken that one, maybe if he’d been holding both...) and shakes. “No one else,” she forces through the spasms, “loved that boy as much as we did.”

You take the ashes home with you and pour them onto a long, shallow plate. It sits firmly on the windowsill next to your bed. By morning, the wind has spirited them all away.

Your bed is empty. There’s nothing said.

It’s not over. When the shadows reached Nanako’s party last time, they were forced to retreat and rethink their strategy. “This time,” Nanako says with a quiver in her throat and clenched fists, “we’ll take them by surprise. There won’t even be enough time for that many shadows to find us.”

It almost goes according to plan. You stick close to Nanako, her personal healer, lashing out at shadows with your new lightweight sword, left-handed, awkward, only when absolutely necessary. There are definitely far fewer of them this time – Teddie and Rise are both scanning constantly to make sure there are no ambushes – and what is there seems to be weakening with every round of attacks launched. It’s so close.

There’s a familiar rhythm to this that you catch onto eventually. It’s the clarity of the music through his – your – headphones that lets you sink into syncopation enough to feel it out. It’s the calm before the storm, the chance for the last strike, and Nanako knows it too. You can see it in the square of her shoulders, the way her friends draw in, the united voice of all her Personas. She’s almost ready.

It’s almost ready.

It gets there first, lunging out at her fast, sharp, and you know there’s no way she’ll react in time. Even if she does, her focus will be ruined. They won’t get this close again. So you do the only thing you can think of to do.

You lunge out too, just as fast, just as sharp, running so far ahead of the party that she won’t even feel the shockwave, and you take the blow right in the chest.

It doesn’t hurt. It’s too fast for that.

For a moment, you’re worried it didn’t work.

“You’re wrong.”

About what, you ask.

“That it didn’t work. Of course it did! You’re Mr. Perfect; everything works out for you.” There’s a pause. “Well, except for the whole dying thing. That wasn’t your best plan ever.”

You laugh, and though you expect it to hurt your chest, it doesn’t. You guess you’re not so good on your own. You could really use an advisor.

“Now that,” he says, and you can see his smile, you really can, “I can handle.”

He looks so young, like when you met, cocky and scrawny and _right_. His orange and red headphones are around his neck, the same ones you were wearing, are still wearing, and you missed him. You really missed him.

He grins. “Yeah, yeah, I know. We can talk about that later. Right now, we should leave.”

You can sense this world shifting around the edges, slowly coming apart. There’s somewhere else to go?

His smile only grows. “It’s pretty awesome. Just wait.” He steps close to you and takes your left hand, takes your right hand, holds them both and squeezes and he’s just so warm that it makes you feel like crying.

“Are you ready?”

You nod.

And with that, he turns, tugging you along by the right hand, and says, “Let’s go, partner.”


End file.
